Gregory
by Caine's Kiss
Summary: Here is my first completed fan-fic, starring a new character, Gregory, have as much fun reading it as I did exorcising it. Earth bound. R&R! There's another part due tying up the loose ends I have left.
1. One of Three

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Gregory

caineskiss@hotmail.com

****

This is yet another of my original fics, inspired by the universe of Doctor Who, again this is all owned by the BBC, not me and I am not publishing to make any profit. This is the first of three chapters that begin the tale of Gregory.

Gregory popped two slices of toast into the toaster and with a deft motion switched on the kettle. While he waited for the kettle to boil, and the toast to burn, Gregory poured some orange juice into a glass and downed with a gulp. He looked at the clock on the wall, he had twenty minutes before he had to leave for college. Gregory Smith was born in 1985; his parents had died a little after that in a car accident, in their wills they had left instruction for him to be cared for by their cousin Phyllis. She was a middle aged and she had always been, though she had made it abundantly clear that she was in no way willing to have him in her home, but nonetheless she had tolerated him and he was made welcome. He had been there when Phyllis had had one of her many depressive moods, again and again. With a sudden clatter the toast popped up, he quickly put it on a plate, spun round switched off the kettle and poured its contents into a cup with a teabag nestled gently in the corner.

He quickly finished his breakfast, and put the stuff in the dishwasher, left out Phyll's breakfast and put a cloth over it to keep off any flies. He strode out of the kitchen and put on his leathers for the bike. Phyll had given him the bikes on his 17th birthday, an old fashioned Triumph, and though he noticed a small plaque with 1945 on the inside of the engine this Triumph however was brand new. He'd just shrugged and smiled, and hugged Phyllis, and she'd something in her eye and turned away.

Greg put on his helmet, and kick-started the engine, he roared out into the morning sun. It was about six miles to the college where Gregory studied. He zoomed down country roads to the outskirts of town where the college was situated, it was an ugly sixties building constructed when modular buildings were considered futuristic today it just looked old and tired. There were various later additions from the nineties when the school increased its capacity, but these merely emphasised the sheer ugliness of the main building. Gregory sped into the school car park to the spot near the bike sheds where he usually parked his bike and dismounted. He shoved the kickstand into place, and put the lock and alarm on the bike, it could still be stolen while he was in class. 

He made his way to his locker, where his girlfriend Stace was waiting for him. She looked up at him as he put his leathers and motorcycle helmet in his locker, 

"You didn't call me, this weekend." She said gravely. 

"Phyll got one of her moods, I had to stay with her, you know how she can get." 

"Yeah, I know, and you always come running every time she gets sick or ill." She muttered audibly, 

"She's getting old!" shouted Greg banging closed his locker door, "I can't help that! She needs someone to take care of her." 

"But she doesn't show it! She's never grateful!" 

"She's the only family I have if you have a problem with that! Then fine!" 

He stormed off driving through a group of other students. Stacey sighed as he walked off, that boy was too nice.

For Greg, a good day had rapidly been chewed out through the storm of romance, for Greg, today was going to get worse, a lot worse. It began in History, one of Greg's favourite subjects, they were studying Late Imperial Russia, and they were looking at Rasputin. The lecturer was talking about Rasputin's salons and the members of the aristocracy. He brought up a picture on the overhead and Gregory's attention was drawn to the sofa, it was a stripy concoction that looked in atrocious taste. Gregory's heard a laughing upper class voice "Of course, Our Dearest Friend will have something to say on that…" He turned suddenly and looked into the ear of Jeff, one of his friends. Gregory could have sworn he felt the hard chair go soft suddenly. It was an odd experience and Gregory felt himself drawn into the eyes of the bearded man, there was something there, a familiar presence like coming back to your old house after a long holiday. Gregory's hand reached up to touch his face and felt, nothing. He snapped out of his daze and continued with the lesson.

Gregory returned to his locker for his script, the college had a tradition of performing a musical. This kept the board of governors happy and parents coming to the school, but also it gave the students to put something grand on their CVs when the time came for them to slide down the razor blade of life. They had been in rehearsals for two weeks now and the production had been progressing well, the only problem was that Stacey was in the play and he had no intention of talking to her again. She wasn't at his locker, he moaned quietly and rifled his locker for the dog-eaten libretto. He pulled it out and tucked in the pocket of the suit he wore he stood up looked about him, and closed his locker. 

About six miles away, a tearing wrenching noise awoke Phyllis, she whimpered in her bed. Waiting. Waiting for the inevitable.


	2. Two of Three

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Gregory

caineskiss@hotmail.com

****

This is yet another of my original fics, inspired by the universe of Doctor Who, again this is all owned by the BBC, not me and I am not publishing to make any profit. This is the second part of the story that begins the tale of Gregory.

Phyllis cowered in the corner as the two gentlemen stood over her. They were wearing black jump suits, and a familiar seal was on their belt buckles. 

The shorter one spoke, "Phyllisoporadloomeder, we suspected it would be you who were hiding the 

Renegade." 

"We never suspected he would elude us for so long," continued his partner, "I'm very impressed but this charade is over, your House is gone and you have been exiled. It is finished. No one will miss you. Not even him."

Phyllis reached into the bedside drawer, touched a device, "No, it's not. You'll never stop him. He'll become the man he once was, and then he will revenge the House of Heartdown." She smiled as she met her fate wrenching her atoms into the void. 

Six miles away from the small cottage, Gregory collapsed in agony in the toilet of the college.

***

Stacey was worried; Gregory had disappeared into the toilet and not emerged, though she had held a look of disdain for him throughout the rehearsal. She thought he had looked quite upset when he disappeared to the bathroom. She resolved to find him, steadying her self against the appalling smell of the fifties block room that constituted for a gent's lavatory. She gasped when she saw him flat on his back, his eyes closed, and his chest wasn't rising or falling. Vomit was stuck to the side of his cheek. Stace ran over to him holding his hand, it was cold, she burst into sobs. "I, I…didn't mean for you…I mean I'm sorry…"

Then she screamed as Gregory sat bolt upright, staring fixedly at the wall. Spraying rancid vomit over his clothes, he gulped at the air, fearing it would escape him again. He pulled his hand away from her and she realised it was sweaty. Dripping with sweat. He stared straight ahead, she reached to hold his hand, "I'm here I still love you…" 

He cut her off savagely, "Don't touch me! You burn me like fire!" She backed away from him, looking at his staring expression.

"You don't look well…you should see a doctor." 

"No, I'll be fine." A pause of contemplation. "I have to go I'll see you later."

"Are you sure you should ride? You really look ill." 

"I'll be fine." He insisted, staggering out to the lot where his bike was locked, he fumbled with the keys muttering "Fine…fine…fine I'll be, be fine." The lock fell off with a clank, as Stacey watched him as he leaped on the bike, and roared into the night.

Gregory listened to the roar of the engine as he made his way home, he had blacked out and he felt different somehow, he was wearing nothing but a shirt and trousers, no leathers, but he felt comfortable, it was like being wrapped in a blanket. Stacey's hand holding his own was cloying an unnatural heat that he felt was too much. He took his eyes off the road for a second; he was covered in his own vomit. He must have thrown up when he blacked out, still he hadn't died back there, and Gregory felt different. There was something about the air around him, he felt a tingling sensation running down his spine. He pulled over, he sniffed the air: he smelt the leaves and a myriad of scents, he saw the colour of every leaf even though it was dark, Gregory felt the worms wriggling in the soil: felt their life.

He saw the strands as every being was born and lived and would die, some peacefully, some at the hands of others, he saw Time. His epiphany finished he remounted the motorcycle and returned home, this was puberty with a vengeance.

***

Gregory returned to the cottage elated, it was curtailed rapidly. The tingling along his spine was now a dull throbbing pain, he staggered into the front door. "Bad habit!" He stumbled into the front room, there was something there or rather something wasn't. Where was Phyllis? 

He roared at the top of his lungs, "Phyllis."

Absence.

He dashed upstairs into Phyllis' room: she wasn't there. He dashed through the house looking for her, she was nowhere to be found. He was disappointed but not concerned. He had known many a time when Phyllis had wandered off and returned days later, bedraggled and in need of her bed. He'd helped her into bed, and settled down to a cup of tea in front of the News or a trashy movie, before going to sleep in the armchair. Gregory settled down to find Phyllis' breakfast untouched. He lifted the cover and ate the toast, now cold. Then he went to bed. 

***

A few hours passed and something in the attic stirred, it reached out to Gregory's sub-conscious mind, caressed it. Gregory sat bolt upright, again, feeling slightly more relaxed than the last time. He was almost trance-like as pulled the cord that brought the attic steps down. He mounted them feeling some impulse that made him move up those steps to find whatever it was that was plaguing him. He stopped at the top of the stairs wondering how he got here when he felt a presence in the attic. He turned and looked at a large trunk standing on its end, it was about six foot tall and looked like a tall canvas coffin with leather straps across it. Gregory moved closer and touched the box. It tingled beneath his fingertip, it was warm but friendly, it seemed to flow beneath his fingertips, it felt almost alive. He wanted to open the chest, he looked around the chest for a handle and found only a small key hole. He touched around the keyhole, when a thought came unbidden to his mind, the jewellery box!

Phyllis had kept a box of trinkets that she mockingly called her jewellery box. It never contained any jewellery just knickknacks that she had collected over the years, in the box though was collection of keys that she had garnered over the years. Gregory stumbled down the ladder in his haste to get to the box. He ran into Phyll's room and scooped up the box, running up to the attic trying to prise the lid open, he knelt in front of the strange chest, dropping the hinges of the box against a strut of the attic. The box clattered open spilling its contents, Gregory separated out the likeliest looking objects that he thought looked like keys. As he brushed a pendant, he felt the same tingling he had felt with the canvas chest. He held it up to the fluorescent light of the attic: it was silver and shaped like a blunt shield. It was engraved with dots that were joined by straight lines. It hung from a silver chain that was connected to the shield by a square cross that seemed part of the metal.

Gregory grasped the key and put it gently in the slot, he turned it. The leather straps unbuckled and the door opened into a dark ominous space. He stood up and stepped into the chest expecting…a chest.

Instead he walked into a hexagonal room with a large control console at its centre.

He wandered around the room, looking at to roundels set into the wall that seemed to light the room, there was a screen in one corner, and in another face there was a door set into the wall. He moved towards the door avoiding the console, after all he could set off something that would cause "problems". Any button could press might cause the place to self-destruct like his own assumed fragile reality. He reached out to the door and it opened automatically, into a corridor, he traipsed down the passage looking in doors where various items were stacked haphazardly. 

He looked in what could have been a bedroom, there was a fine silk shirt that looked burnt. He picked it up and gazed as burnt fibres fell from the cloth. There was a pair of trousers and boots that also were extremely carbonised, he looked at them but refrained from touching them. He walked out and continued his journey.

Later. He looked in another room where he saw an eighteenth century shirt and flounce, this seemed familiar, and he touched the jewelled slippers underneath the tailor's dummy. They seemed like real diamonds. Again he left the room and turned back down the corridor, this was the end of the corridor, and it was interesting, as he could have sworn the corridor was far longer. 

However here he was, Gregory reached out to the door but it opened suddenly with a clank onto a large gothic room, in the centre was a mysteriously suspended sphere with grooves cut into it like a petanque ball. An ornate cage protected this, with elegant scrollwork across it, it was cylindrical arching up as far as Gregory could see. At the base of the cage was a mooring for the sphere with a circular hole embedded in its centre. Opposite the door where Gregory entered was a console, this like the rest of the room looked antique, a subtle mixture of Victorian and Medieval. It had elegant numbers that looked like typewriter keys, automatically Gregory walked up to it and punched in a code. With a grinding noise, the cage shrieked into the mooring. When the cage retracted with a clatter, the light holding the sphere seemed to draw it back. The sphere settled gently into the slot and all at once the edifice seemed to fit together. A great ringing occurred across the room and it seemed the area seemed much lighter. Gregory reached out and touched the hemisphere, a bolt of energy struck him, flinging him against the wall and he collapsed, sliding to the floor…


	3. Three of Three

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Gregory

caineskiss@hotmail.com

****

This is yet another of my original fics, inspired by the universe of Doctor Who, again this is all owned by the BBC, not me and I am not publishing to make any profit. This is the final part of the story that begins the tale of Gregory.

There was a flood of memories: Time slowed allowing Pain to replace her.

Gregory's mind finally opened. Human parts of his brain were now merged seamlessly as his Time Brains re-established themselves….

***

"Our Dearest Friend will surely have something to say about that." Said a buxom young Countess to his left, Grigori chuckled, a rich throaty sound, "Of course, I believe that War is inevitable, and surely it will be good for Russia, but we must always remember the peasants and workers who serve Papa. Surely the War will make them suffer." The young women around him twittered emptily…

***

He felt the bullets bury themselves in his back, causing him to stumble onto the ice-locked river, he spun and collapsed. Yusupov loomed over him smiling. The smile caused him to remember another smile on another world a long time ago. Yusupov levelled the revolver at his hated foe, spat and squeezed the trigger. Merciful oblivion opened its jaws and swallowed him whole.

***

Another salon, a different time, again the ladies laughed, this time at someone else. 

"And I declare that the galvanic energy contained within this frog will create a bizarre reaction unknown to the sciences of today."

The middle aged gentleman, leaned over to a lady-friend, "He means the legs will twitch."

"Good Lord! I hope it won't be to macabre!" Gregoire nearly creased, but refrained,

"I'm sure Mademoiselle, will not find the spectacle too gruesome." The alchemist had stopped and was glaring at them, "If I may be permitted to continue. Monsieur Le Comte." 

"Of course, of course," and snidely he added, "I'll let you know if you go wrong." 

The demonstrator coughed and continued, "If we observe the battery here, and we add these wires to the frog, then the galvanic energy will activate the muscles of the legs…." 

He interrupted by a wheezing that came in short stabs, punctuated by yelps of mirth, the Comte who previously interrupted him was laughing helplessly. Gales of laughter rolled over the audience, who looked at the noblemen with curious expressions on their faces, only a few gentlemen and ladies smiled knowingly. 

The poor alchemist looked completely befuddled like a small rodent in the headlights of an oncoming coach. His frantic features formed themselves into an arrogant sneer, "Well Monsieur, what is it that you find so amusing?" 

The Comte sat up after the spasms of hilarity, wiping his eyes with a kerchief, "Did I interrupt?" he said, as innocent as a babe, but in his eyes there was a knowing look that the alchemist noticed. 

***

Gregory sat up, he patted the Eye of Harmony lovingly, "Thank you, Old Girl." He returned to the Console Room and began scanning the surrounding area for time distortion. He found what he was looking for, as the view-screen showed the agents questioned his Cousin…

***

House Heartdown, almost four hundred years ago.

Threads, his youngest Cousin, was enduring brain-buffing with her avatroid. She was reciting the somethingth or other of Rassilon, Avanogregoriletraann was sitting in the back, reading a book he had found on Alzara IV. It was interesting treatise on the Elder Gods and their significance into minor events of the Universe, such as black holes. He chuckled as he turned another page on the Black Guardian's interference in the high art of advanced tea making, and effects of Chaos on Brownian motion. The Kithriarch bustled in importantly and turned to where his feet were up on the desk. She coughed snootily, Avano turned to her and smiled, "Hello, Phyllisopora, isn't it nice to see you!"

"A Word Now." She growled to him. He kicked his feet off the desk, dropped the book lightly, and stalked out following the Kithriarch. They walked across the meadow towards the main hall, but Phyllis turned round to him. "What do you think you are doing here?"

"I returned to visit my Family, is that so bad?" replied Avano innocently.

"You always return for a reason. What is it?" answered Phyllisopora.

Avano moved in close to her "He's back."

"Who?"

"Our Eldest, Salyavin escaped from Shada."

"Dear Other, he's alive!"

"He's established himself on a small planet, he's a teacher at a small college there."

"How did you know?" 

"I helped him, he's managed to erase memories of Shada, the populous of the Capitol was never generally aware of the prison asteroid, it's been removed from the Matrix too."

"But…that means he'll be trapped on some backwater world for the rest of his life."

"Fine. He accepts that. He was going to retire anyway." Avano turned to leave, he stared to move towards the skimmer hanger.

"Wait. What are you going to do?"

"I'll go back to the Capitol, continue to work for the CIA. What I've always done"

"Do you want to go back?"

"No."

***

He switched off the view-screen, and turned to the controls, he activated the dematerialise controls and punched in the co-ordinates. He thought of all the possibilities that awaited him, right now, they were all he had…

FIN

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Not many people to thank here, but Drox, Alteng, Psychic_Suzanne and my mate Nick for their support and being my sole reviewers, who gallantly read through this rubbish and said "this or that in you disgusts me…" or was that Robert Browning. Anyhow I must thank you for reading this, it's taken some stamina and I now must ask you to help me, does Gregory remain wandering with his TARDIS across Space and Time or will he disappear into the aether?

Dear Reader, I leave the answer with you….


End file.
